


aboard that bad ol' wagon

by the_prose_in_which_the_filth_dwells (the_one_in_which_the_filth_dwells)



Series: we're the last americans [3]
Category: American Murder Song - Various (Album)
Genre: Cain Knows What's Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 10:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18754729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_in_which_the_filth_dwells/pseuds/the_prose_in_which_the_filth_dwells
Summary: Cain does some house/wagon keeping while his horses and his balladeers go on hunting trips.





	aboard that bad ol' wagon

“Cain, you simply must do something about the size of the Wagon,” Storm remarked as he emerged from the black stagecoach. 

“What makes you so sure I  _ can _ do anything about it?” Cain griped as he hopped to the ground. They were stopping for the evening somewhere in rural North Carolina, in a field not too far from the road. To the east was a forest, perhaps half a mile’s walking distance. 

“Tender told me you control its appearance.”

“Mister Tender seems to tell you a lot of things,” Cain grumbled. On cue Tender came out of the Wagon, tipped an imaginary hat at the mention of his name, then wordlessly started off in the direction of the forest with an axe over one shoulder. 

“If he’s doing firewood, you can help me with the horses,” Cain said. As he started unhitching Bellona, Storm came over to do the same with Innana. The Nightmares were itching to be free of their harnesses, and not in a forgiving mood because of it. Storm ducked out of the way before Innana hit him with a toss of her head. On the other side, he thought he heard Cain chuckle. 

In short order, all four Nightmares were free. Cain didn’t bother to tie them up— they weren’t normal horses, after all, and his Nightmares liked the taste of meat as well as grass. They probably wanted to go hunting. The weather was nice this evening. Cain knew once they ate, they would always return to the campsite to sleep. They were clever beasts, and understood their purpose was to be with the Wagon. 

Sure enough, Nephthys raised her head into the wind, nostrils flaring. She always led the hunts, as the leader of the herd— or, perhaps pack would be a better term. Once she caught a scent she started galloping off in its direction with the other Nightmares on her heels. Cain watched them go, a fond look on his face.

“Do they consider people prey?” Storm asked, staring after them as well. 

Cain shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past them. But don’t worry, they won’t eat us.”

Storm gave a strange little titter. Then he turned to face the wind, retrieving a piece of cord from his pocket and using it to tie up his hair. Cain could hardly fathom how he did it, considering his wild curls. Storm had removed the bandages around his forearm, and now the carved Mark was scabbed over. It would leave a nice scar, just like his own and Tender’s.

“Are we eating tonight?” Storm inquired. In their undead states, they didn’t get hungry as often as they did when they were human. But it had been a few days since their last meal, and Storm was growing peckish. Tender had complained of it too, earlier in the Wagon. 

“If you want to go and shoot something, by all means. Bring it back and I’ll cook it.” Storm nodded, ducking into the Wagon to grab Cain’s rifle. After loading it, he saluted to him and then marched off in the direction of the forest. Cain noted with some amusement that it was the same direction Tender had gone. 

They were like puppies, truly. Cain had been around for a long time, and he had seen just about every social scenario a hundred times over: this was a case of infatuation, clear as day. Whether it was as friends or more than that remained to be seen —he wasn’t sure whether Storm and Tender really knew about same sex pairings, let alone accepted them— but they trailed after each other like enamored ducklings. 

_ To be young again. _

It was a thought that made a wry smile pull at his lips.

 

* * *

  
  


Before Tender heard Storm’s footsteps, he heard his voice. He was singing some inane drinking song, but if not for the words Tender would have pegged it for one of those hymns you might hear in Heaven. Storm’s voice was a high tenor, lively and delicate, sweet on Tender’s ears. It was all he could do to stand there with a dumb smile on his face as the crunch of Storm’s boots on the ground grew closer. 

“Oh, there you are,” Storm said as he ducked under a branch and came to stand next to him. Tender coughed, glancing away and hoping he hadn’t noticed his expression. When his eyes darted back to Storm, however, he was smiling. 

“I’m catching dinner.” 

“Singing at the top of your lungs definitely won’t scare every critter off,” Tender replied, but now he was smiling too. Storm’s eyes glittered. Tender reckoned he had a roguish charm about him with his hair tied back.

“How would you know?” He brushed past Tender, their shoulders grazing each other. Tender spun on his heel to watch him as he proceeded through the underbrush.  _ What a strange fellow.  _

“Aren’t you coming?” Storm called. Tender blinked, then hurried after him.

“I’m supposed to be getting firewood.”

Storm didn’t turn. “I could use the company.”

“Cain will get angry.” 

Storm laughed, bright and merry as Tender drew up next to him. “He’s always angry at something. Wasn’t that how everything started?” He had a point. Tender chortled. 

“Sure.”  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Storm smile. Tender supposed he had won this battle— but then again, he didn’t really mind.

 

* * *

  
  


“You simply must do something about the size of the Wagon,” Cain grumbled to himself in a poor imitation of Mister Storm’s lilting cadence. He was standing in front of the Black Wagon, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. He liked the stagecoach look. Couldn’t he tie his companions’ guitars to the roof? Or, better yet, tie Storm to the roof? 

Cain waved a hand and the Wagon’s roof morphed to have a rack and enough rope to tie down any man of modest height (especially those with a wild head of curls.) It was a good look. He genuinely,  _ genuinely _ considered keeping it. 

No, Tender would complain. That, or gallantly insist to be tied on the roof in Storm’s place. Cain sighed, flicking his hand to make the rack melt back into the black wood roof. What the hell did Storm expect from him? A house on wheels? 

With a bit of effort, Cain morphed the Black Wagon into what was, effectively, a house on wheels. It promptly sank into the soft earth, tilting dangerously to the left. Cain made a panicked noise and quickly reduced it to the size of a wheelbarrow. Then he heaved it out of the ground and set it a few yards away. 

_ See, Storm always has bad ideas. _

Cain harrumphed and made the Wagon a stagecoach again. This would take more thought. At least the Nightmares would be able to handle pulling whatever he could come up with. (Well, anything except that literal house on wheels.) Cain rolled his shoulders. 

“Boys had better appreciate this,” he growled, then got to work.   
  


 

* * *

 

 

By the time the sun had set, Storm had shot a pheasant and Tender had a decent haul of firewood. He very much appreciated the extra strength his undead state gave him, and Storm had taken the axe to lighten the load. The moon was about half full, enough for them to find their way even under the trees. 

They had been singing together since Storm shot their dinner.  Drinking songs were universal enough that there were plenty of verses they both knew. Storm had gotten a giant grin on his face when he first heard Tender’s singing voice, and even now it hadn’t really gone away. It was easy for them to harmonize, too, being musical individuals, and soon enough they were playing around improvising canons.

“You first this time,” Storm insisted as they approached the tree line. 

“Alright.” A breath. “Had Neptune, when he first took charge of the sea—”

When they emerged from the forest, Tender forgot what came next. He could see the Black Wagon looming from half a mile out, looking decidedly taller than he remembered leaving it. Storm, on his right, giggled.

“I guess he  _ did _ listen.”

The closer they got, the more Tender was certain he was seeing something that was simultaneously ridiculous and genius. The Wagon, if it could still even be called such, was far, far taller than a stagecoach, with giant wheels to accompany it. It appeared to be two stories —who had even  _ heard _ of such a thing in a wagon?— with a few windows, a door one might see on a house, and a seat hanging off the front wall, presumably for driving the horses. The wood was all black, of course. 

The Nightmares weren’t back from their hunt yet. Cain was nowhere to be seen either, but he was hopefully inside.

“Cain?” Tender called, setting down the firewood. 

“Inside!” Came Cain’s reply, somewhat muffled.

“Let’s go see,” Storm said, taking Tender’s hand with his free one. Tender’s mind went blank for a second at the soft, warm touch of Storm’s hand, and then he was being pulled towards the Black Wagon. 

Storm climbed the steps leading up to the door, Tender right behind him. He opened the door, reminding Tender of a child Christmas morning. 

“Oh, look at it!” Storm cried.

Tender gawked. The interior of the Wagon was now an actual room, large enough to house a table and chairs. A bookshelf was hung on one wall, empty for now, and the window looking out had lovely drapes. Off to one side was a ladder, leading up to the second floor of the Wagon. They could hear Cain muttering to himself up there. 

“This is wonderful!” Storm exclaimed. 

“It had fuckin’ better be,” Cain replied, his feet appearing as he came down the ladder. Then he hopped to the floor, crossing his arms and giving them both a stern look. (It softened slightly at the impressed looks on his companions’ faces.) 

“It’s not a house, I tried that, but it’ll do. I want no more complaining.”

“Not from me!” Storm chirped, shoving the pheasant in Cain’s hands and darting to the ladder. Tender muffled a snicker as Storm scrambled up and Cain glared daggers at his back. 

“You’re welcome.” Then he exited, slinging the pheasant over his shoulder. Tender chuckled and followed Storm up the ladder.

Up the ladder was a loft. Storm and Tender’s guitar cases were stacked to one side with a few crates, underneath a small window. The majority of the space was taken by three hammocks hung next to each other. Storm was already swinging back and forth in the one closest to the window. Some pots and pans were hanging from the ceiling, as well as a lantern for light. A few plush pelts were laid out over the floor. Tender knelt and stroked one, surprised at how soft it was. Not for the first time, he was very appreciative of Cain’s magic. The fur felt remarkably real, like one of them had skinned it. 

“I love this,” Storm gushed, lightly pushing off of the wall to keep swaying. “Come try.”

Tender was about to point out that, magic or not, the hammock wouldn’t be able to hold both of their weights, when he realized Storm probably meant for him to pick his own. He flushed —and was instantly grateful that the lantern light was too dim to show it— and walked over to the hammock next to Storm’s. Getting in was a rigorous affair, but all of his troubles seemed to melt away once he was lying down. Tender exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his shoulders. 

“Isn’t it lovely?” Storm sighed. He was smiling up at the ceiling. 

“Very,” Tender replied, resting his eyes. 

“I think we’ll like it here.” 

_ I already do, _ Tender thought as Storm started another song. He smiled to himself.

 

* * *

 

Cain paused when he heard a beautiful croon come from the Black Wagon. 

“My days have been so wondrous free!” 

Was that Storm? 

He resumed tending to the pheasant, which was roasting over a fire he had started. He could have pegged Storm for an angel with the way his voice soared through high notes. (He had personal experience with such.) 

It was then that Tender’s voice rose to meet Storm’s, their timbres melding as they harmonized perfectly. “The little birds that fly, with careless ease from tree to tree!”

It brought a grudging appreciation from Cain. They were good for each other. Perhaps bringing Storm along wasn’t a complete mistake, as much as his humor and smiles got on his nerves sometimes.

“Were but as blessed as I!” 

Cain looked up at the sound of hooves. The Nightmares were strolling up near the fire pit, muzzles shining wet with blood and looking very pleased with themselves. Cain smiled. 

“Welcome back, darlin’s.” 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I based the new Wagon off of the one shown in the Donner Party Black Wagon segments. That wagon, in turn, was based on the very real two story wagon that the Reed family had on the trail. (You will recognize James Reed of "crying banished horseman" fame.) Of course, that one needed eight oxen to pull it, but I figure four demonic Nightmares would do the job. https://www.legendsofamerica.com/ca-donnerparty/
> 
> 2\. Both the Neptune song and the My Days song are real, and chronologically accurate. You're welcome. I didn't want them making up AMS songs yet-- that comes later. All I want to say is that the archaic tradition of using F's instead of S's is ANNOYING AS HELL to translate.   
> https://www.americanrevolution.org/songs/songs-drinking/ds13.jpg and https://www.americanrevolution.org/songs/songs-misc/ms43.jpg
> 
> 3\. The last line is a subtle homage to the inexplicably female!Cain from the Killing Place. Orientation, I believe. I will absolutely be addressing Cain's magical ability to change gender. Storm and Tender are going to have their minds blown.


End file.
